That line in the subject heading--"the bed's too big without you"--comes from a Police song (written by Sting, as with 98% of their songs). It came to mind yesterday evening after returning home from Funeraria Paz where my grandmother lies in state.
To those who don't know, my grandmother (mother of my father) died on December 13, 2003 at about 11:30 in the evening; she was 93.She was brought to the hospital after complaining of difficulty in breathing; upon reaching the hospital, the doctors discovered that they could hardly hear her heart and that she had barely a pulse; she was also quicky turning cyanotic, i.e., blood was not being distributed to the other parts of her body.Immediately I knew that I would lose my grandmother that night. But since my father and mother were also there and both were hypertensive, I knew that thoughts such as those would have to be placed in the backburner.I prayed continuously (and for those I bugged for intercessory prayers--pasensya na)healing but mostly for comfort for my grandmother and for strength and grace for my parents (particularly my father, because he was feeling the burden of being the eldest male child present at that time). After two arrests, about 40 minutes of CPR (which my father ordered stopped eventually after he decided on a "do not resuscitate" order), we left my grandmother to God's grace and His will.About 5 minutes after my grandmother was brought to the ICU, she flatlined.
Of course, those of us who were there were in anguish but, to a person, each one of us thought practically the same thing: how do we tell my grandfather, who is bedridden after a serious stroke? I am told that he cried when my grandmother was being brought to the hospital and supposedly said, after it was explained to him by my aunt that she had to be hospitalized, "she's old, its her time;she's about to die." How do you get around to telling him that the woman he married, who loved him, who looked after him and who was his constant companion--in sickness and health was gone, forever?
My brother and I have been asking my father and my uncle to tell my grandfather. They decided to wait until their eldest brother (who lives in Bukidnon) arrives. My older uncle will arrive today (at about 1 pm) and all three sons will tell my lolo about my lola. Although I do think that he knows already and is just waiting for someone to tell him.
Anyway, the line in the subject heading came to my mind because of something my lolo said Sunday morning, after my lola had passed away. He was being his usual fussy self (my lolo was very OC about his appearance when he was still active; he remains so even when he's not mobile) with the attendant and was complaining that he was feeling cold. As it was 6 o'clock of a December morning, the attendant told him that he couldn't be feeling cold because he was wearing a sweater and was covered in blankets; then my lolo said, "i'm feeling cold because there's no one beside me." That killed me, what my lolo said: I'm feeling the cold because the bed's too big without you.
And then, I thought: that's what people who love feel (and I don't mean only romantic love) at the moment of loss. Whether it be a loved one or a particularly good friend.Love's fire provides us with a heat and warmth that is diminished with each passing;also, love's fire is somehow diminished if there is not enough heat or warmth generated because there are less people who love.We generate warmth (not only heat) when we love and when we cease to love, then that warmth somehow is lost or diminished. The empty space created by the loss of one we love results in less warmth, which can only be compensated by more love.
That may be what God feels whenever we fail or refuse or don't love. When we sin When we turn away from Him.God must feel the cold each time we turn our back on Him. Heaven becomes a little emptier without us.The bed's too big without you and I feel the cold.Heaven's a little emptier without you--come back to me.
As we wind up Advent and approach Christmas, lets fill up the empty spaces in Heaven and warm up the Earth with our love. Be it friend, spouse, significant other, brother or sister, family member, fellow human being--Heaven's a little emptier each time we don't love.
December 16, 2003
November 27, 2001
Giving everything (Luke 21:1-4)
There is a joke about three men of the cloth of different congregations who found themselves comparing how they are able to discern what and how much to give to God and how much to retain for their church from their collection plates. One said, I draw a line in the sand and toss the contents in the air, those that land on the right go to God, those that land on the left go to my church. The second said, I have a similar system, I draw a circle in the sand and toss the contents in the air, those that land inside the circle, I give to God, those that land outside is for my church. The third (rumored to be a Jesuit), said, I have a similar system, I toss the contents in the air, whatever God manages to catch He can keep, anything that he doesn't catch goes to my church.
The joke is enough for a momentary laugh or even a wry smile. But it is apt for the gospel for today. Luke 21:1-4 is a familar gospel--about the poor widow who gave everything she had. In it, Jesus impliedly rebuked those who have more in life for giving only that which they can spare but extolled the poor widow who gave all that she had to live on--two copper coins.
In our lives, very frequently, we are asked to decide what and how much to give to God from OUR lives. In a typical day, we wrestle with how much time and what portion of our lives we are to give to God. Multiply those days into hours and years, and we find ourselves asking the same question: how much time and what portion of our lives we are to give to God.Thus, being frail, weak and human, we bargain with God very frequently. We allot prayer time--the start of the day and perhaps the end of the day. We set aside time for Mass (Sundays and the occasional First Friday or Holidays of Obligation). We decide to go on retreats and recollections. All our lives, it is a conscious effort of budgetting time for God--giving from OUR time WHAT WE CAN SPARE. Similar to the third priest in the joke, whatever God can catch of us, He keeps.But lets look at the situation more closely now. Who's fooling whom? By not giving God OUR (?) time, who loses. God? I don't think so.
Every moment that we do not give to God is a moment that He fails to touch us, direct us, disturb us. And it is in His touch, direction and disturbance that God showers us with His blessings. During those times when our hearts are cold and hard and our eyes are singlemindedly intent on our human passions and goals, God finds it difficult to touch us, direct us and disturb us--for there is already so much there in our hearts that He loses His place.
Every moment that we do not give to God is a moment that we deny ourselves the gift of Him. God waits, patiently, for us; He has waited for ALL time--from the moment of creation, He already knew our name in His divine plan. Yet, He waits for us to realize that He waits for us. During those times when we are so intent with doing what we think is His will on Earth, He finds it difficult to sit and wait for us--but still He does.
Our God is not a God who demands of us OUR time--even if He has every right to do so. Our God is not one who asks us to give to Him each and every waking hour of the day--even if He could very well do so. Our God is a God of free will--He allows us to choose our own lives and to give to Him that which we are pleased to; not making demands, not even requests.
He is a God who loves us unconditionally, to a fault, to the extent of denying us the gift of Himself. A truly radical God--one who denies Himself perhaps His greatest pleasure, our lives and our hearts. But unlike the poor widow, very frequently, our lives are a testament to giving only what we can spare, what we are comfortable with, what we have at the moment. Like the third priest in the joke, whatever God can catch of our lives, that's all he gets to keep. BUT IF WE ARE SO UNWILLING TO SACRIFICE THE BEST OF OURSELVES, THEN GOD ONLY GETS TO KEEP THE WORST IN US. When we refuse to give the BEST of our efforts at worktime, at praytime and at playtime, then we DENY God all the BEST in us. When we parcel out to God our time and efforts and allocate "this is for God, this is for me", we find ourselves giving only those that we are comfortable with and very frequently, these would be those that we do not hold dear. When we cannot say "this ENTIRE DAY is for the Lord" then we are not giving to Him all that we are and all that we have to live on but only that which we are comfortable with.
I find myself very frequently in this situation--of being able to give only after counting the cost. Yet, that is not what God wants of me, I know. But it is so very difficult--my human frailty and weakness very frequently prevents me from ceding control. What if it is too hard? What if I get embarrassed? What if I can't do it? What if I fall flat on my face? What if . . .?The gospel of the poor widow who gave her all is the answer to all my "what ifs" She gave literally all that she had to live on--two copper coins--without reservations, conditions, hesitation. She never said, "nakakahiya naman, ito lang" (its embarrassing, its a pittance) or asked "paano na ako mamaya kakain (how will i buy food later)?" She just simply LET GOD BE HER ALL.
As we wait for the coming of the Lord on Christmas Day, it is an opportune time for us to reflect on how much we have given to the Lord of ourselves. Have we truly allowed Him to take us by the hand and lead us where He wants us to go? During those times that God disturbs us by dismantling our orderly and ordered lives into a mess that we are unable to recognize, have we truly given Him the power to take this mess and bless it? Are our hearts truly open to the possibility that God may already have plans for us that we haven't even thought of?Brothers and sisters, as we wait for the Lord, let us wait with hearts that are not only open and welcoming but also expectant--borne out of the realization that we are willing to let Him take over our lives, our hearts, our souls and everything we are. Like the poor widow in Luke 21, may we learn always to give ALL that we are and all that we have to live on and not only all that we can spare or are comfortable with.
The joke is enough for a momentary laugh or even a wry smile. But it is apt for the gospel for today. Luke 21:1-4 is a familar gospel--about the poor widow who gave everything she had. In it, Jesus impliedly rebuked those who have more in life for giving only that which they can spare but extolled the poor widow who gave all that she had to live on--two copper coins.
In our lives, very frequently, we are asked to decide what and how much to give to God from OUR lives. In a typical day, we wrestle with how much time and what portion of our lives we are to give to God. Multiply those days into hours and years, and we find ourselves asking the same question: how much time and what portion of our lives we are to give to God.Thus, being frail, weak and human, we bargain with God very frequently. We allot prayer time--the start of the day and perhaps the end of the day. We set aside time for Mass (Sundays and the occasional First Friday or Holidays of Obligation). We decide to go on retreats and recollections. All our lives, it is a conscious effort of budgetting time for God--giving from OUR time WHAT WE CAN SPARE. Similar to the third priest in the joke, whatever God can catch of us, He keeps.But lets look at the situation more closely now. Who's fooling whom? By not giving God OUR (?) time, who loses. God? I don't think so.
Every moment that we do not give to God is a moment that He fails to touch us, direct us, disturb us. And it is in His touch, direction and disturbance that God showers us with His blessings. During those times when our hearts are cold and hard and our eyes are singlemindedly intent on our human passions and goals, God finds it difficult to touch us, direct us and disturb us--for there is already so much there in our hearts that He loses His place.
Every moment that we do not give to God is a moment that we deny ourselves the gift of Him. God waits, patiently, for us; He has waited for ALL time--from the moment of creation, He already knew our name in His divine plan. Yet, He waits for us to realize that He waits for us. During those times when we are so intent with doing what we think is His will on Earth, He finds it difficult to sit and wait for us--but still He does.
Our God is not a God who demands of us OUR time--even if He has every right to do so. Our God is not one who asks us to give to Him each and every waking hour of the day--even if He could very well do so. Our God is a God of free will--He allows us to choose our own lives and to give to Him that which we are pleased to; not making demands, not even requests.
He is a God who loves us unconditionally, to a fault, to the extent of denying us the gift of Himself. A truly radical God--one who denies Himself perhaps His greatest pleasure, our lives and our hearts. But unlike the poor widow, very frequently, our lives are a testament to giving only what we can spare, what we are comfortable with, what we have at the moment. Like the third priest in the joke, whatever God can catch of our lives, that's all he gets to keep. BUT IF WE ARE SO UNWILLING TO SACRIFICE THE BEST OF OURSELVES, THEN GOD ONLY GETS TO KEEP THE WORST IN US. When we refuse to give the BEST of our efforts at worktime, at praytime and at playtime, then we DENY God all the BEST in us. When we parcel out to God our time and efforts and allocate "this is for God, this is for me", we find ourselves giving only those that we are comfortable with and very frequently, these would be those that we do not hold dear. When we cannot say "this ENTIRE DAY is for the Lord" then we are not giving to Him all that we are and all that we have to live on but only that which we are comfortable with.
I find myself very frequently in this situation--of being able to give only after counting the cost. Yet, that is not what God wants of me, I know. But it is so very difficult--my human frailty and weakness very frequently prevents me from ceding control. What if it is too hard? What if I get embarrassed? What if I can't do it? What if I fall flat on my face? What if . . .?The gospel of the poor widow who gave her all is the answer to all my "what ifs" She gave literally all that she had to live on--two copper coins--without reservations, conditions, hesitation. She never said, "nakakahiya naman, ito lang" (its embarrassing, its a pittance) or asked "paano na ako mamaya kakain (how will i buy food later)?" She just simply LET GOD BE HER ALL.
As we wait for the coming of the Lord on Christmas Day, it is an opportune time for us to reflect on how much we have given to the Lord of ourselves. Have we truly allowed Him to take us by the hand and lead us where He wants us to go? During those times that God disturbs us by dismantling our orderly and ordered lives into a mess that we are unable to recognize, have we truly given Him the power to take this mess and bless it? Are our hearts truly open to the possibility that God may already have plans for us that we haven't even thought of?Brothers and sisters, as we wait for the Lord, let us wait with hearts that are not only open and welcoming but also expectant--borne out of the realization that we are willing to let Him take over our lives, our hearts, our souls and everything we are. Like the poor widow in Luke 21, may we learn always to give ALL that we are and all that we have to live on and not only all that we can spare or are comfortable with.
November 22, 2001
The gift of waiting (a pre-advent reflection)
In this very fast-paced life we all live, waiting is a luxury and, to most, a necessary but unwanted evil. Most of us, I in particular, do not like to wait nor to be kept waiting. Understandably, because all of us are preoccupied with our own concerns--concerns that take time and demand from us undivided attention--and waiting disrupts the order and system that we, invariably, must develop so that we may address these concerns. Yet, we wait everyday of our lives--even if we don't like it.
We waited, as children, to grow up, to study, to go to college, to finish a degree, to work, to become professionals, to be successful. We wait in line for meals, for rides, for tickets to a show or a movie, for a friend to call or show up; we wait in line to receive God's body and blood at communion; we wait at airports or seaports to send off loved ones or to welcome them home. We wait for birthdays and vacations and weekends. We wait for the right one to come along.
We cannot remove all the waiting in our lives. It is part of who we are; it is integrally woven into the tapestry of living, the "fabric in which the threads are woven that tell the story of our lives."But to a lot of us, waiting is unnatural. It conflicts with the all-too human passion and zest for life. Especially in this day and age when communication is faster than sound--text messages get across greater distances faster than the sound of the spoken word--life has become faster and time all the more important.
Michael Jordan's Nike ads tell us to "just do it"; don't wait. That much-maligned movie "The Dead Poet's Society" gave us the unforgettable mantra--to some, a life motto--"carpe diem" (seize the day); do not wait, do it now. In other more pedestrian fashions, the pre-occupation is with doing things now--life is short; eat, drink, party for tomorrow you may die. Fr. Bernas loves to paraphrase an unnamed Saint who supposedly asked God to "give me patience. . . . but please give it to me right now."
All this insistence on not waiting, on doing things faster or doing things now and not tomorrow creates in us unwanted character traits that are, initially, imperceptible but which, eventually, surface. The preoccupation with "just do it" and "carpe diem", taken the wrong way, becomes license for unbridled and irresponsible freedom and action--premarital sex and extra-marital affairs, lack of commitment and absence of perserverance in commitments; they create an overriding sense of cynicism and distrust and forces us to rely on ourselves more and more. The rush to "just do it" and the "carpe diem" mentality creates in us a refusal to trust vows and promises, renders us cynical of duty and responsibility, fosters distrust of any anchors that we may drop in the currents and tides of our life that will force us to stop. . . and wait.
For me, the refusal to wait makes me unable to love and love fully. Waiting means waiting for someone else. It means giving up something that is precious to me in this day and age, my time, for someone else; resisting the all-too human urge to do it myself. And for me, it is the first sign of love.Anyone who has ever loved knows how it is to wait. Anyone who has ever loved knows how much waiting goes into loving, how much waiting is important for love to grow, to flourish, to thrive.
I do not know why love requires so much waiting. It is a mystery to me also. Why must I wait for my loved one? We might as well ask why it takes so long for a seed to become a tree or for coal to become a diamond.
All I do know is that a love that is instantly accessible and immediately gratifying is a love that is, ultimately shallow, puerile, doubtful and fleeting. All I do know is that a love that is subject of patient and expectant waiting is a love that has grown and will continue to grow. For it is a love that takes root in the the nourishment of experience, of shared mysteries, of secret and not-so secret joys, of companionship, of honesty, sincerity, candor and trust. As a seed takes time to become a tree, so too does love take time to grow, flourish and thrive.
That is why waiting is the start of loving.
If we truly love the other, then we must gift that person with the gift of waiting. It is a most difficult thing to do but it is also the truest test of the depth and sincerity of our love for each other.
So, as we approach Advent and ultimately Christmas. . . we wait for OUR Loved One, our Lord Jesus Christ, the radical God of our lives. We wait twelve months, 52 weeks, 365 days to celebrate one Holy day--the day the King of our lives is born. We wait for Him because we love Him. We wait for Him because we know He is the ONE, the ONLY ONE for us. We wait because we want to give to Him the gift of our time expended into our lives--lives that we hope will be pleasing to His eyes. We wait for Him because we recognize that He has to, first, take root in our hearts, in our lives, in all that we are before He comes; otherwise, His coming will be as un-extraordinary as the measures of instant gratification we take everyday of our lives. We wait for Him because, after all, He has waited for us for ALL time.
[Lord, I pray, as I wait for you to come, that my life shall be the fruitful product of a loving and productive waiting; I offer to you my gift of time as I await your coming--and I spend that time, as I wait, in fashioning my life and my heart to create a life and a son that is pleasing to you.]
We waited, as children, to grow up, to study, to go to college, to finish a degree, to work, to become professionals, to be successful. We wait in line for meals, for rides, for tickets to a show or a movie, for a friend to call or show up; we wait in line to receive God's body and blood at communion; we wait at airports or seaports to send off loved ones or to welcome them home. We wait for birthdays and vacations and weekends. We wait for the right one to come along.
We cannot remove all the waiting in our lives. It is part of who we are; it is integrally woven into the tapestry of living, the "fabric in which the threads are woven that tell the story of our lives."But to a lot of us, waiting is unnatural. It conflicts with the all-too human passion and zest for life. Especially in this day and age when communication is faster than sound--text messages get across greater distances faster than the sound of the spoken word--life has become faster and time all the more important.
Michael Jordan's Nike ads tell us to "just do it"; don't wait. That much-maligned movie "The Dead Poet's Society" gave us the unforgettable mantra--to some, a life motto--"carpe diem" (seize the day); do not wait, do it now. In other more pedestrian fashions, the pre-occupation is with doing things now--life is short; eat, drink, party for tomorrow you may die. Fr. Bernas loves to paraphrase an unnamed Saint who supposedly asked God to "give me patience. . . . but please give it to me right now."
All this insistence on not waiting, on doing things faster or doing things now and not tomorrow creates in us unwanted character traits that are, initially, imperceptible but which, eventually, surface. The preoccupation with "just do it" and "carpe diem", taken the wrong way, becomes license for unbridled and irresponsible freedom and action--premarital sex and extra-marital affairs, lack of commitment and absence of perserverance in commitments; they create an overriding sense of cynicism and distrust and forces us to rely on ourselves more and more. The rush to "just do it" and the "carpe diem" mentality creates in us a refusal to trust vows and promises, renders us cynical of duty and responsibility, fosters distrust of any anchors that we may drop in the currents and tides of our life that will force us to stop. . . and wait.
For me, the refusal to wait makes me unable to love and love fully. Waiting means waiting for someone else. It means giving up something that is precious to me in this day and age, my time, for someone else; resisting the all-too human urge to do it myself. And for me, it is the first sign of love.Anyone who has ever loved knows how it is to wait. Anyone who has ever loved knows how much waiting goes into loving, how much waiting is important for love to grow, to flourish, to thrive.
I do not know why love requires so much waiting. It is a mystery to me also. Why must I wait for my loved one? We might as well ask why it takes so long for a seed to become a tree or for coal to become a diamond.
All I do know is that a love that is instantly accessible and immediately gratifying is a love that is, ultimately shallow, puerile, doubtful and fleeting. All I do know is that a love that is subject of patient and expectant waiting is a love that has grown and will continue to grow. For it is a love that takes root in the the nourishment of experience, of shared mysteries, of secret and not-so secret joys, of companionship, of honesty, sincerity, candor and trust. As a seed takes time to become a tree, so too does love take time to grow, flourish and thrive.
That is why waiting is the start of loving.
If we truly love the other, then we must gift that person with the gift of waiting. It is a most difficult thing to do but it is also the truest test of the depth and sincerity of our love for each other.
So, as we approach Advent and ultimately Christmas. . . we wait for OUR Loved One, our Lord Jesus Christ, the radical God of our lives. We wait twelve months, 52 weeks, 365 days to celebrate one Holy day--the day the King of our lives is born. We wait for Him because we love Him. We wait for Him because we know He is the ONE, the ONLY ONE for us. We wait because we want to give to Him the gift of our time expended into our lives--lives that we hope will be pleasing to His eyes. We wait for Him because we recognize that He has to, first, take root in our hearts, in our lives, in all that we are before He comes; otherwise, His coming will be as un-extraordinary as the measures of instant gratification we take everyday of our lives. We wait for Him because, after all, He has waited for us for ALL time.
[Lord, I pray, as I wait for you to come, that my life shall be the fruitful product of a loving and productive waiting; I offer to you my gift of time as I await your coming--and I spend that time, as I wait, in fashioning my life and my heart to create a life and a son that is pleasing to you.]
November 02, 1999
Words will never be enough (Eyewitness accounts of two executions)
I am among the very few in the country who have watched an execution; I've watched two. Both were my clients. The executions were conducted February 5 and October 26, 1999. Within the span of February 1999 to January 4, 2000, the Philippines murdered seven people in five executions, including a triple execution carried out in one day.
What follows are actual notes taken and recorded on a PDA during the executions and other notes taken immediately after.
Leo Echegaray, February 5, 1999, Friday:
1. Chel and I went into Holding Cell at 1145; we saw Leo behind an enclosure through a small glass window behind a locked and bolted door. There was not enough room for my hand to enter; the only physical contact possible were through our fingers.
2. Leo was smiling and upbeat; he told Chel and me that his BP was normal and that his last recorded BP was 100 over 70; he told us that he had eaten so much for breakfast, almost finishing two drumsticks.
3. Leo's mood remained upbeat all throughout; he remained smiling all throughout. When asked for last words, he said, "Umaasa pa ako na hindi matutuloy ito. Nakangiti pa naman ako."
4. We left the Holding Cell at about 1200; the meeting didn’t last thirty minutes. I didn’t know what to say to him; all that I could do was to smile, even if I felt like crying, because Leo was smiling.
5. In the waiting room with USEC Puno and Liwag and Director Sistoza; exchanged small talk; don’t feel like talking to them; very frustrated and upset and terrified at what I am going to see in a few hours; praying very hard that it won’t happen.
6. 230: media witnesses ushered in; saw some friends, Susan of GMA, Butch of PTV, Jomar of DWIZ; Korina and Ted not around (too hot for them siguro); exchanged small talk with them; they’re nervous–especially Susan, who became close to Leo and Zeny; she’s talking very fast–nervous;
7. 251: ushered into the Chamber; 2 glass panels with a blue curtain drawn across; Leo's voice, "sinasaktan nyo lang ako"; sounds of paper or rubber tubing; occasional beeping sounds from a machine; flash bulbs go off; Cayetano and Recto in the room also; Fr. Bobby's voice praying; everybody looking at the clock; sound of the airconditioner; 32 seats; a small aisle; stoic guards; witnesses turning to look at the clock over and over again; praying so hard.
8. 259: curtain is drawn; last words, "patawarin nyo ako sambayanang pilipino sa kasalanang pinaratang nyo sa akin. Pilipino pinatay ng kapwa pilipino."
[After this, I couldn’t continue writing on my PDA. What follows is a stone-cold sober recollection of the day’s events written at about 2:00 in the morning of February 6, 1999 despite five (5) shots of tequila and several beers.]
At exactly 3:00 PM, breaths were collectively drawn and all eyes were fixed on Leo, directly in front of us. He looked, ironically, like a person crucified, with both arms stretched as in a cross. The only sound in the room was the heartbeat monitor, the sobbing of Zeny (Leo’s wife) and Tess (Leo’s sister) and the beeping of my own heart.
I stopped looking at the clock; I stopped praying the rosary in mid-decade. I couldn’t do anything except stare–helplessly. I didn’t want to watch but I couldn’t take my eyes off Leo.
Leo’s eyes remained closed; at some point, it looked like he "clenched" his eyes shut. I don’t know how long it took but at some point, Leo turned darker and darker. First, his lips, then his face. His color turned purplish–kulay talong. Still, the only sound in the room was the monitor and the now-incessant crying of Zeny and Tess.
At 3:18 PM (I looked at the clock), three doctors were called in; his life signs were taken even as the monitor clearly showed that he had flat-lined; nevertheless, the female doctor listened to his heartbeat using a stethoscope; a second one also did. One minute later, 3:19 PM (I looked at the clock again), the first female doctor intoned in a flat monotone, "the condemned man is dead."
The curtains were then drawn.
Tess was now sobbing loudly; Zeny was howling. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry or lash out in anger and frustration, or all three at the same time. A person had just been killed in front of me and it took all of 19 minutes. I sat down and tried to pray for him and for all of us–the words would not come; I could not complete even a "Hail Mary." I wanted to do something–anything, but I didn’t know what; I wanted to feel something–anything, but I didn’t know how. My eyes were completely dry; my hands were clenched in fists; my heart was beating fast.
I was seated at the last chair on the last row on the right side. I wanted to wait for all of them to leave before I left; that was not to be as Mr. Rod Cornejo, VP for Finance of GMA 7 and an active member of the Prison Fellowship, drew me up, shook my hand and embraced me, telling me "it’s all right. God is in control." Soon after, Senator Cayetano extended his hand to me; I didn’t want to take his hand because he represented everything that I despised–a sleazy, despicable opportunist who would prance and preen at the slightest sight of a camera–but, I was not myself then, I took his hand.
When I left the chamber, the guards were solicitous and courteous. They were absolutely professional. Some of them shook my hand and guided me out.
Outside, Congressman Recto was talking to Chel (a fellow Lasallian) and when he saw me, extended his hand to shake mine. I remember his words then, "I'm for the death penalty but if this is going to happen for the over 700 deathrow inmates, then there has to be a better way. This is wrong."
In the heat of the day, the first thing I remember doing was bumming a smoke from Chel–not because I wanted to but because I felt I had to do something to still the raging emotions within me; after a few drags, I threw the stick away.
By that time, Tess had already recovered enough to come out and thank Chel and me; I drew her into a hug even as she was sobbing. I assured her that all the legal complications for Leo’s remains to be delivered to the family would be taken care of and that Chel and I would see to it. Zeny was hysterical and was being attended to by a female guard.
Justice Cuevas then approached me and extended his hand; I took his hand and asked him straight out to facilitate the release of the remains to Tess and the family. He immediately said that it was being done, as we were speaking.
After being assured that the remains would be delivered to the family, despite the legal complications of Zeny signing and the Bureau not wanting to recognize Tess’s authority as sister, Chel and I left; Brother Arsing and Fr. Roy had brought the van and we hurriedly boarded it.
The first thing I remember doing after the execution was to go inside the church; I was heedless of the media and the cameras; I remember seeing Cookie, Erin, Fr. Jun Jun and the rest of the FLAG members and PJPS people; but I just felt that I wanted a few moments alone with Him, especially after seeing such a monstrosity. After some time (I am thankful that, this time, prayer did come and there was some measure of peace in me.) and silence, I felt a little better and I was able to face the media and answer a few questions (I would always remember the officious twit who asked me "Do you think that you have failed as a lawyer?" I wanted to smash his camera into his face and make him eat it but practical concerns prevailed--mahal ang camera niya).
Thereafter, we (Cookie, Arno, Chel, Ed, Erin) proceeded to Galo’s to get drunk; despite several shots of tequila and some beers, I managed to stay sober and awake the entire evening and managed to remember . . .
Pablito Andan, October 26, 1999, Tuesday:
The first thing I remembered was that there was not that much fanfare, this time around. There was still a lot of media but not as much as the time that Leo was executed. There were also some changes in the security procedure.
I had filed last-minute motions and petitions for Bobby (as I did for Leo) but all of them had been denied by the Supreme Court (as it did in Leo’s case). Again, the inevitable was upon me. This time, it was harder because Bobby had very young kids and Bobby himself was very young.
But, there was, legally, nothing I could do anymore. So, once again, I trooped to the Chamber to witness another execution; my second in a year. I thought that it would not be that much different from the first and hoped that it would be much easier to handle than Leo’s.
I was wrong.
At about 2:00 PM, I went into the Chamber; I asked to talk with Bobby. The Rules actually prohibited any visits at this time, so close to the execution time. But I insisted on Bobby’s rights to have counsel visit him anytime; Fr. Bobby Olaguer helped; the guards finally relented.
I had a long talk with Bobby; I told him that there was legally nothing I could do and that we had done everything we could think of; he just smiled and thanked me; he told me that he was worried about his kids; I told him that his family was with PJPS but that none of them wanted to witness the execution; he told me that it was alright and that he didn’t want them to witness it anyway; I asked him if there was anything else I could do for him; he thanked me again and slipped a letter (in yellow pad) through the tiny enclosure and asked me to give it to his family; he also removed a scapular and a tiny "El Shaddai" hanky and gave it to me for me to give to his family; I slipped these into my pocket and assured him that I would do so; Bobby was anxious; he was restless; he would alternately smile and lapse into a serious expression; on my part, I didn’t know what to say so I just didn’t say anything.
At about 2:30 PM, I took my leave of Bobby. We "shook fingers"; he smiled and thanked me again. I assured him "walang problema, Bobby." I then left the Holding Cell and proceeded to the Waiting Room. I met Fr. Bobby on the way out; I thanked him for his help in getting me to see Bobby Andan.
After waiting for about twenty minutes, we were ushered into the Chamber; no change in the way it looked; this time, however, there was more noise than with Leo’s execution; people were talking fast and quite loudly–particularly the media representatives; I was seated in the same seat–last seat, last row, right side–I was in during Leo’s execution. I wanted to stand up and say something to the media representatives, to tell them to keep quiet; Rod Cornejo, however, spared me of that burden by standing up and telling the media representatives that "this is not a picnic, we are here to watch a person being killed, please give this occasion some respect." He then asked everybody in the room to pray. At that, the room quieted down.
At about 3:00 PM, the curtains were drawn and Bobby was there, tied down. Unlike Leo’s execution, he looked as if he was already drugged; his eyes were half-closed and he looked almost asleep. He was then asked if he had any last words; he uttered, in a very soft almost inaudible voice, "mahal ko po sila, mahal ko po sila." After a few seconds after he uttered the statement, the Director stepped back.
The process got underway; my initial suspicions that he had been administered the first drug even before the curtains were drawn were confirmed by the speed by which the execution was carried out–unlike Leo’s case, it took only seven (7) minutes. At 3:07 PM, Bobby Andan was pronounced dead.
There were no relatives to cry for Bobby in the Chamber. It was a very quiet procession that trooped out of the Chamber; no politicians were around; Rod Cornejo just shook my hand, shaking his head in silence.
I left the Chamber and, after ensuring that the funeral arrangements were in order, went with Arsing, back to PJPS. There, I had the most difficult task of informing Bobby’s family that he was gone; I took his letter, his scapular and hankie and gave them to the family, informing them that he wanted them to have it. At this, his sister broke down and started wailing. I just had to leave the room then.
Postcript:
All my life, I have never seen somebody die in front of me; I am fortunate in that regard. I have, however, in my 34 years of life, witnessed two persons being killed in front of me in a span of only nine (9) months.
There is a difference between the two experiences.
You can prepare yourself to watch a loved one die in front of you; you can try to plumb the depths of your being and spirit to find the strength and fortitude to steel you for the inevitable loss.
Nothing, however, can prepare you to watch someone being killed in front of you.
Cayetano went public, after Leo’s execution, saying that it was "painless." It is a testament to his monumental stupidity and craven and crass sleaziness that he would attempt to describe something that he has not even gone through.
There are no words to describe the absolutely horrifying spectacle of witnessing a person being killed in cold-blood in front of you. There are no words to describe the emotions that well up in you at the sight of a life being taken.
Even now, after witnessing two executions almost two years ago, when people ask me how I would describe the experience, I still tell them the same thing. Words have not been invented to describe the experience–it goes beyond despair, sorrow, frustration, anger, rage, helplessness and pity, yet it is all of these and more. It is an experience, literally, that I would not wish on my greatest enemy. That is how horrifying witnessing an execution can be.
And, yet, it can be a profoundly liberating experience. The cruelty that attends an execution underscores the humanity in all of us–that we are all imperfect and incomplete; that without a higher purpose and a higher being, we would all be wandering around in the wilderness like Cain–lost and adrift. The utter cruelty of watching another person put to death gives you pause and cause to reflect on what this life means for all of us; it gives each of us the chance to think of the values that permeate each of our lives–the regard for rights, the compassion for others, the love for country and the fear of God. In this sense, if we are to emerge as better persons--more human and humane beings--after these executions, the senseless deaths of Leo and Bobby and the others would not have proved to be meaningless.
What follows are actual notes taken and recorded on a PDA during the executions and other notes taken immediately after.
Leo Echegaray, February 5, 1999, Friday:
1. Chel and I went into Holding Cell at 1145; we saw Leo behind an enclosure through a small glass window behind a locked and bolted door. There was not enough room for my hand to enter; the only physical contact possible were through our fingers.
2. Leo was smiling and upbeat; he told Chel and me that his BP was normal and that his last recorded BP was 100 over 70; he told us that he had eaten so much for breakfast, almost finishing two drumsticks.
3. Leo's mood remained upbeat all throughout; he remained smiling all throughout. When asked for last words, he said, "Umaasa pa ako na hindi matutuloy ito. Nakangiti pa naman ako."
4. We left the Holding Cell at about 1200; the meeting didn’t last thirty minutes. I didn’t know what to say to him; all that I could do was to smile, even if I felt like crying, because Leo was smiling.
5. In the waiting room with USEC Puno and Liwag and Director Sistoza; exchanged small talk; don’t feel like talking to them; very frustrated and upset and terrified at what I am going to see in a few hours; praying very hard that it won’t happen.
6. 230: media witnesses ushered in; saw some friends, Susan of GMA, Butch of PTV, Jomar of DWIZ; Korina and Ted not around (too hot for them siguro); exchanged small talk with them; they’re nervous–especially Susan, who became close to Leo and Zeny; she’s talking very fast–nervous;
7. 251: ushered into the Chamber; 2 glass panels with a blue curtain drawn across; Leo's voice, "sinasaktan nyo lang ako"; sounds of paper or rubber tubing; occasional beeping sounds from a machine; flash bulbs go off; Cayetano and Recto in the room also; Fr. Bobby's voice praying; everybody looking at the clock; sound of the airconditioner; 32 seats; a small aisle; stoic guards; witnesses turning to look at the clock over and over again; praying so hard.
8. 259: curtain is drawn; last words, "patawarin nyo ako sambayanang pilipino sa kasalanang pinaratang nyo sa akin. Pilipino pinatay ng kapwa pilipino."
[After this, I couldn’t continue writing on my PDA. What follows is a stone-cold sober recollection of the day’s events written at about 2:00 in the morning of February 6, 1999 despite five (5) shots of tequila and several beers.]
At exactly 3:00 PM, breaths were collectively drawn and all eyes were fixed on Leo, directly in front of us. He looked, ironically, like a person crucified, with both arms stretched as in a cross. The only sound in the room was the heartbeat monitor, the sobbing of Zeny (Leo’s wife) and Tess (Leo’s sister) and the beeping of my own heart.
I stopped looking at the clock; I stopped praying the rosary in mid-decade. I couldn’t do anything except stare–helplessly. I didn’t want to watch but I couldn’t take my eyes off Leo.
Leo’s eyes remained closed; at some point, it looked like he "clenched" his eyes shut. I don’t know how long it took but at some point, Leo turned darker and darker. First, his lips, then his face. His color turned purplish–kulay talong. Still, the only sound in the room was the monitor and the now-incessant crying of Zeny and Tess.
At 3:18 PM (I looked at the clock), three doctors were called in; his life signs were taken even as the monitor clearly showed that he had flat-lined; nevertheless, the female doctor listened to his heartbeat using a stethoscope; a second one also did. One minute later, 3:19 PM (I looked at the clock again), the first female doctor intoned in a flat monotone, "the condemned man is dead."
The curtains were then drawn.
Tess was now sobbing loudly; Zeny was howling. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry or lash out in anger and frustration, or all three at the same time. A person had just been killed in front of me and it took all of 19 minutes. I sat down and tried to pray for him and for all of us–the words would not come; I could not complete even a "Hail Mary." I wanted to do something–anything, but I didn’t know what; I wanted to feel something–anything, but I didn’t know how. My eyes were completely dry; my hands were clenched in fists; my heart was beating fast.
I was seated at the last chair on the last row on the right side. I wanted to wait for all of them to leave before I left; that was not to be as Mr. Rod Cornejo, VP for Finance of GMA 7 and an active member of the Prison Fellowship, drew me up, shook my hand and embraced me, telling me "it’s all right. God is in control." Soon after, Senator Cayetano extended his hand to me; I didn’t want to take his hand because he represented everything that I despised–a sleazy, despicable opportunist who would prance and preen at the slightest sight of a camera–but, I was not myself then, I took his hand.
When I left the chamber, the guards were solicitous and courteous. They were absolutely professional. Some of them shook my hand and guided me out.
Outside, Congressman Recto was talking to Chel (a fellow Lasallian) and when he saw me, extended his hand to shake mine. I remember his words then, "I'm for the death penalty but if this is going to happen for the over 700 deathrow inmates, then there has to be a better way. This is wrong."
In the heat of the day, the first thing I remember doing was bumming a smoke from Chel–not because I wanted to but because I felt I had to do something to still the raging emotions within me; after a few drags, I threw the stick away.
By that time, Tess had already recovered enough to come out and thank Chel and me; I drew her into a hug even as she was sobbing. I assured her that all the legal complications for Leo’s remains to be delivered to the family would be taken care of and that Chel and I would see to it. Zeny was hysterical and was being attended to by a female guard.
Justice Cuevas then approached me and extended his hand; I took his hand and asked him straight out to facilitate the release of the remains to Tess and the family. He immediately said that it was being done, as we were speaking.
After being assured that the remains would be delivered to the family, despite the legal complications of Zeny signing and the Bureau not wanting to recognize Tess’s authority as sister, Chel and I left; Brother Arsing and Fr. Roy had brought the van and we hurriedly boarded it.
The first thing I remember doing after the execution was to go inside the church; I was heedless of the media and the cameras; I remember seeing Cookie, Erin, Fr. Jun Jun and the rest of the FLAG members and PJPS people; but I just felt that I wanted a few moments alone with Him, especially after seeing such a monstrosity. After some time (I am thankful that, this time, prayer did come and there was some measure of peace in me.) and silence, I felt a little better and I was able to face the media and answer a few questions (I would always remember the officious twit who asked me "Do you think that you have failed as a lawyer?" I wanted to smash his camera into his face and make him eat it but practical concerns prevailed--mahal ang camera niya).
Thereafter, we (Cookie, Arno, Chel, Ed, Erin) proceeded to Galo’s to get drunk; despite several shots of tequila and some beers, I managed to stay sober and awake the entire evening and managed to remember . . .
Pablito Andan, October 26, 1999, Tuesday:
The first thing I remembered was that there was not that much fanfare, this time around. There was still a lot of media but not as much as the time that Leo was executed. There were also some changes in the security procedure.
I had filed last-minute motions and petitions for Bobby (as I did for Leo) but all of them had been denied by the Supreme Court (as it did in Leo’s case). Again, the inevitable was upon me. This time, it was harder because Bobby had very young kids and Bobby himself was very young.
But, there was, legally, nothing I could do anymore. So, once again, I trooped to the Chamber to witness another execution; my second in a year. I thought that it would not be that much different from the first and hoped that it would be much easier to handle than Leo’s.
I was wrong.
At about 2:00 PM, I went into the Chamber; I asked to talk with Bobby. The Rules actually prohibited any visits at this time, so close to the execution time. But I insisted on Bobby’s rights to have counsel visit him anytime; Fr. Bobby Olaguer helped; the guards finally relented.
I had a long talk with Bobby; I told him that there was legally nothing I could do and that we had done everything we could think of; he just smiled and thanked me; he told me that he was worried about his kids; I told him that his family was with PJPS but that none of them wanted to witness the execution; he told me that it was alright and that he didn’t want them to witness it anyway; I asked him if there was anything else I could do for him; he thanked me again and slipped a letter (in yellow pad) through the tiny enclosure and asked me to give it to his family; he also removed a scapular and a tiny "El Shaddai" hanky and gave it to me for me to give to his family; I slipped these into my pocket and assured him that I would do so; Bobby was anxious; he was restless; he would alternately smile and lapse into a serious expression; on my part, I didn’t know what to say so I just didn’t say anything.
At about 2:30 PM, I took my leave of Bobby. We "shook fingers"; he smiled and thanked me again. I assured him "walang problema, Bobby." I then left the Holding Cell and proceeded to the Waiting Room. I met Fr. Bobby on the way out; I thanked him for his help in getting me to see Bobby Andan.
After waiting for about twenty minutes, we were ushered into the Chamber; no change in the way it looked; this time, however, there was more noise than with Leo’s execution; people were talking fast and quite loudly–particularly the media representatives; I was seated in the same seat–last seat, last row, right side–I was in during Leo’s execution. I wanted to stand up and say something to the media representatives, to tell them to keep quiet; Rod Cornejo, however, spared me of that burden by standing up and telling the media representatives that "this is not a picnic, we are here to watch a person being killed, please give this occasion some respect." He then asked everybody in the room to pray. At that, the room quieted down.
At about 3:00 PM, the curtains were drawn and Bobby was there, tied down. Unlike Leo’s execution, he looked as if he was already drugged; his eyes were half-closed and he looked almost asleep. He was then asked if he had any last words; he uttered, in a very soft almost inaudible voice, "mahal ko po sila, mahal ko po sila." After a few seconds after he uttered the statement, the Director stepped back.
The process got underway; my initial suspicions that he had been administered the first drug even before the curtains were drawn were confirmed by the speed by which the execution was carried out–unlike Leo’s case, it took only seven (7) minutes. At 3:07 PM, Bobby Andan was pronounced dead.
There were no relatives to cry for Bobby in the Chamber. It was a very quiet procession that trooped out of the Chamber; no politicians were around; Rod Cornejo just shook my hand, shaking his head in silence.
I left the Chamber and, after ensuring that the funeral arrangements were in order, went with Arsing, back to PJPS. There, I had the most difficult task of informing Bobby’s family that he was gone; I took his letter, his scapular and hankie and gave them to the family, informing them that he wanted them to have it. At this, his sister broke down and started wailing. I just had to leave the room then.
Postcript:
All my life, I have never seen somebody die in front of me; I am fortunate in that regard. I have, however, in my 34 years of life, witnessed two persons being killed in front of me in a span of only nine (9) months.
There is a difference between the two experiences.
You can prepare yourself to watch a loved one die in front of you; you can try to plumb the depths of your being and spirit to find the strength and fortitude to steel you for the inevitable loss.
Nothing, however, can prepare you to watch someone being killed in front of you.
Cayetano went public, after Leo’s execution, saying that it was "painless." It is a testament to his monumental stupidity and craven and crass sleaziness that he would attempt to describe something that he has not even gone through.
There are no words to describe the absolutely horrifying spectacle of witnessing a person being killed in cold-blood in front of you. There are no words to describe the emotions that well up in you at the sight of a life being taken.
Even now, after witnessing two executions almost two years ago, when people ask me how I would describe the experience, I still tell them the same thing. Words have not been invented to describe the experience–it goes beyond despair, sorrow, frustration, anger, rage, helplessness and pity, yet it is all of these and more. It is an experience, literally, that I would not wish on my greatest enemy. That is how horrifying witnessing an execution can be.
And, yet, it can be a profoundly liberating experience. The cruelty that attends an execution underscores the humanity in all of us–that we are all imperfect and incomplete; that without a higher purpose and a higher being, we would all be wandering around in the wilderness like Cain–lost and adrift. The utter cruelty of watching another person put to death gives you pause and cause to reflect on what this life means for all of us; it gives each of us the chance to think of the values that permeate each of our lives–the regard for rights, the compassion for others, the love for country and the fear of God. In this sense, if we are to emerge as better persons--more human and humane beings--after these executions, the senseless deaths of Leo and Bobby and the others would not have proved to be meaningless.
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